


Sin deep, my wicked angel

by blue_butterfly



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Gothic, Killing, M/M, Rough Sex, Surprise Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 05:23:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12698235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_butterfly/pseuds/blue_butterfly
Summary: Mitchell is a lone vampire on the hunt for prey in one of Europe's oldest cities. In a gothic club he meets a young boy who's going to be his next victim. He takes Anders home and has some fun with him - but just like Mitchell is not a nice vampire, Anders is not quite what he seems either.





	Sin deep, my wicked angel

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old work that I'm reposting as a rescue mission because I lost the tumblr account it was originally posted to. 
> 
> It's marginally Britchell, more like an original tale using the characters as a foil. Still, I hope you enjoy the read.
> 
> I'm now at blu-be.tumblr.com in case you want to contact me.
> 
> The title was taken from a song by Cradle of Filth.

* * *

 

He found the boy in a Goth club in Antwerp.

It was one of those casual meetings that changed your life forever - _forever_  being quite literal in this case. Oh, the irony of it.

The location couldn’t have been more of a cliché. An abandoned old church from the seventeenth century, turned into a modern music club. Complete with neon lights, several dance floors, and an absinthe bar. A number of the old features had been left untouched, such as the stained glass windows, the velvet covered prayer benches, and even the high altar with its tacky rendition of the Holy Virgin as Queen of Heaven, framed by pudgy-faced putti and chubby cherubs who kept a jealous watch from their elevated position upon gilded stucco clouds.

John Mitchell came here ever since he had relocated to Belgium six years ago. He knew the church and its grounds in their old former glory from a brief stay some time in the Nineteen-Thirties. It was a stark contrast to the place it had become eighty years later.

Once every month, the venue hosted a ‘vampire ball’. Flocks of black-clad, white-faced, hollow-eyed girls and boys would make the pilgrimage from all across the country, filtering in from the small towns speckling the Flemish landscape, and from the dirty suburbs slumbering in limbo ever since the European Union had lured qualified young people to apply for underpaid jobs in the capital, where living was unaffordable and dying even more so. It was a host of the young and despairing that crowded this place. They were fleeing their desolate, bleak existences for a night in the vain hope of finding fulfilment in their empty lives for a few desperate hours. The metamorphosis some of them went through was extraordinary. Grey, faceless office girls changed into corseted, fragile black butterflies, their wings made from cobwebs and dust. Haggard boys scraping their living off a shitty IT job suddenly became sophisticated gentlemen of another world, frock coats and walking sticks their weapon against a reality that was cruel and unfair. And many, oh so many dressed as vampires; fake blood painted on pale faces and plastic fangs reflecting the harsh light of the stroboscope. It was a paradise for Mitchell, a garden Eden for him to amble through and pick the ripest of fruits. What place better for the wolf to hunt than where sheep tried to pass for dogs?

Of course he didn’t call himself John, who in their right mind would call themselves John in these days without rousing suspicion? Neither did he go by the name of Mitchell. He’d left both of those behind, one in the war and the other one when he moved over from England after the most recent disaster in the long chain of mishaps that was his life. No, here he was Gabriel, in both a mock salute to a popular TV drama as well as a homage to one of his favourite painters and fellow vampires. Rossetti had been officially dead for only a few years when Mitchell was born. The elusive painter-turned-vampire remained a hermit until irony struck in the form of an enraged human muse who ended his existence with a stake through the heart. Mitchell had always loved his works, both on canvas and off. So, Gabriel it was, and he bore the name with pride. It was a name famous enough to evoke romantic associations in his potential victims.

Ah, victims.

The boy seemed unassuming compared to the other folks that frequented _Le Bal des Vampires._ He lookedsimple and less flamboyant than some of the characters in their fancy dress and ostentatious attire. Clad in a plain black shirt bearing the logo of _Christian Death_ , and a pair of bondage pants, he stood behind the bar he tended, waiting for the first customers. It was all part of Mitchell’s plan. If he were to pick one of the more buoyant creatures that graced the premises, their disappearance would be noticed immediately. No one looked twice at a bar boy though, even if this particular bar boy was exquisitely beautiful.

It was still early evening. Mitchell loved being among the first guests, selecting a spot where he could watch the procession of the grotesque for the rest of the night. Usually he chose a place close to one of the exits, all of which led out onto dark, narrow alleys that sank into fog after dark no matter the season. Tonight though, his steps led him to the bar on the first floor where a fair head had caught his attention.

He had no preference in gender, skin or hair colour when it came to his victims. True, different tones of skin made for different tastes of blood, not unlike the colour of wine. But Mitchell’s only prerogative was that they be beautiful. He was a vain vampire who wouldn’t make do with sorry, ugly creatures. Only the most flawless were worthy of a gaze from his amber eyes.

Mitchell walked up to the counter and ordered himself a beer. Time to scrutinize his chosen prey more closely. The boy was slender, young. Age regulations wouldn’t allow him to work at a bar if he weren’t at least 18, but like so many others in this monochrome world of black and white he had probably faked his ID. His blond hair was cropped short, but still long enough to curl in slightly at the ends. Oh, if he only let it grow, he would look like one of Giotto’s angels. Mitchell almost regretted that the boy would not live long enough to ever wear his hair in golden waves. Sinful red lips wrapped around the neck of a bottle in a minute of spare time, sucking the liquid down eagerly. The vampire watched the boy’s Adam’s apple bob up and down, unconsciously licking his own lips at the sight. This slender throat was what he would go for after he had tasted the wine of the boy’s veins from his wrist, thigh, shoulder.

Always save the best for last.

Eager blue eyes adorned a face that was pleasantly pretty and revealed nothing; only an occasional sparkle in those azure pools betrayed a knowledge of the world that only few others of this age possessed. For most of them, the ball meant a night of amusement, partying and drinking until the cows came home. Here was an exception to the rule.

“Hey, are you new here?” The vampire took the chance when there were no customers for a while. His tone was gentle, sweet. Conversation was something he had practised to perfection in his long life.

“Yes, it’s actually my first day.” The blond nodded enthusiastically, throwing Mitchell a smile that revealed a set of adorable dimples.

Mitchell made a mental note. Let him die with a smile on his face. Not many of his victims received the gift of a gentle death. This one would.

None of that was visible for the boy.

“But I’ve been here as a guest before.” He blabbered on, picking up a glass to clean it with a cloth that was tucked into his belt.

“I bet you were.” Mitchell mumbled, taking a sip of his beer. “Do you like it here, then?”

“Oh yes, it’s great! I mean, the location alone is just so awesome already, and then the people…”

“Oh, you must know half of the guests at least, for sure.”

The slender young man shook his head sadly. “Unfortunately not. I’m rather new to town, and I haven’t yet met many people. I…I usually come here whenever I can on weekends, but this is my first  _Bal_. So, no,” he laughed shyly. “Not many friends yet.”

Thank you, Mitchell mused in thoughts. His careful questioning had resulted in just the information he wanted to hear. Not many friends, a new face to the scene, and from the slightly ratty look and the attitude, Mitchell figured he wasn’t living with parents or anyone else. Perfect. No one was going to miss the blond in a while.

He made it look like a casual decision when he extended his hand, a move practised over years.

“Sorry to hear that. Let me start then. I’m Gabriel. Welcome to town.”  
“Anders. And thank you.” The boy shook Mitchell's hand and introduced himself.  
“Scandinavian by name, I take it?”  
“Yes. Norwegian, to be exact.”  
“Ah.”

What a cunning little liar. Blond hair and blue eyes may have accounted for a Scandinavian heritage, but the boy was definitely speaking with a New Zealand accent. Sometimes Mitchell got interested in his victim’s life story. What might have led this young man from a country at the other end of the world to this place, of all the places one could travel? Maybe he was an adventure-seeker, a refugee, or simply - and most likely - a student. Whatever it was, one thing was for sure: He would be missed even less if his family was on the other side of the globe.

Customers came, and Mitchell reverted back to his beer, studying his chosen prey intently from a safe distance. Anders’ movements were graceful, fluid. He was skinny for his age and not exactly tall, but that didn’t matter. Mitchell liked the tiny ones. They were so much more fun to break. Most of them put up such pretty struggles. He imagined Anders on his back, the boy’s black clothes in stark contrast to the snow-covered ground, those pouty lips opening for a last desperate scream, the long-fingered hands scrabbling for purchase on Mitchell’s sleek leather clothes, trying in vain to fend off the creature whose fangs were tearing into his throat, sucking the last of his life out of his veins. The moment when those blue eyes broke would be one of triumph and regret, for it’d take Mitchell some time to find another near perfect victim like this boy.

Anders was making some cocktails by now, using the shaker with skill and talent. His lithe body swayed as he moved, giving Mitchell a good view or two, next to a bag full of ideas of what he was going to do to the boy before he fed. Vampires liked to play with their food. A little innuendo, a cheeky remark, some well-orchestrated touches and looks would send the hormones a-tumble, and what was more delicious than your meal spiced up with an adrenaline high, wide-eyed and eager, nostrils flaring and heart beating so loud it echoed off the walls. That was when they felt most alive, thriving with sheer energy, and cutting them down in their prime was the ultimate kick for any vampire.

He was definitely going to make this look as if he were seducing Anders. That was the easiest approach. The blond’s body language spoke volumes: Anders was open for anything. The look he had cast the vampire had been a bit too coy to be genuine, those long lashes batting in a way that was definitely flirty, too flirty for his age. It would be easy getting Anders to follow a newly met 'friend' with the unspoken promise of a night spent together. Oh, they’d spend this night together alright, just not the way Anders probably imagined.

“So, what do you do besides working at a bar?” He asked jokingly once there was a bit of space again for Anders to take a breath.

“Oh, this and that.” The blond boy replied with a smile. “I move and shake.”

Mitchell understood. It was code, nicely phrased for _'I live off whatever I can get and I sell my arse to whoever may want to have it.’_

That was when he decided to fuck the boy before drinking him dry.

He didn’t usually do that. His routine was all about teasing them, riling them up until they smelled heady and tasted of sex and lust and fear when he emptied them. He rarely engaged in actual sex with his victims, mostly because he never managed to control himself. It was a mess every time, and the effort of cleaning up after the pleasure had subsided put a damper on the whole experience. Who wanted to think of ruined sheets and new wall paint while buried balls-deep inside his lover? And Mitchell really hated the vinegar smell of the bloodstain remover. Anders however, Anders with his blond locks and tiny ass and narrow hips, with his intelligent blue eyes and his world-weary wit - he might be worth the trouble.

This time, Mitchell was intrigued, not only by the flirting and the good looks, but also by the obvious secrets the boy tried to hide. He was trying to pass off as mysterious, like so many others in this scene, believing that it would magically change them into more interesting persons than the ones they were forced to be in daily life. The vampire smirked around the neck of his bottle. Anders would give up his “secrets” quickly and willingly once Mitchell had him spread out and speared on his cock.

The rest of the evening drowned in small talk interrupted by looks that grew more and more longing on Anders’ part, and so it didn’t come as a surprise to the vampire when he asked Anders to go home with him and the boy breathed a shy accordance against Mitchell’s lips.

After Anders had closed his bar, wiped the counter and thrown his cleaning cloth into a corner, they took one of the rear exits onto an alley that led down to the river. The night, the fog, the smell - slightly mossy and damp, and old, so very old - reminded Mitchell of Victorian London where he used to hunt his prey along the muddy banks of the Thames; the mighty river providing a perfect facility to get rid of the empty hulls once he was done. Trust Father Thames to be his ally and carry them far out into the ocean where no one would ever find them again. The river Scheldt was nowhere near as powerful, and also the times had changed a lot. Dumping a body in a river wasn’t as easy anymore as it used to be. Oh, modern times!

The vampire eyed the boy walking next to him, snuggled into the bend of his arm that lay around the tiny waist. Mitchell never brought them home with him, not even the ones he chose to have sex with. He usually took and killed them in an ambush, pressing them up against a wall on the way to a supposed home while they were still bustling and throbbing with excitement and anticipation. A kiss, faking to trail from the mouth down the throat, a last sly smile against pulse-warm skin before he sank his fangs in and left them a moment to process that this wasn’t a violent love bite, but the true kiss of death. Sometimes he let them catch a glimpse of their doom and showed off blood-smeared fangs, although usually his blackened eyes were enough to send the first of an endless row of screams over their lips. The ones he decided to savour or do a bit more with than just snack on? There was a small, unused room in the basement of an abandoned building down at the riverbank that Mitchell had equipped with a mattress and a few pieces of furniture to make it resemble a home. He brought them there, took them for pleasure on the makeshift bed and then took them apart in quite another way. In the six years that he lived here, he had only brought three people to his _actual_ home.

They walked in silence along the river for a while, the boy and the vampire. Mitchell was still silently debating whether to take the pleasure of his victim’s body and life right here, like all the others, or lead him to that secret place for a night of good entertainment before stilling the hunger that was beginning to rear its head. It was the eternal battle between his own rash temper and a common sense that told him the experience would be so much better if he just waited.

Anders gave him a sideways glance. Blue eyes glistened in the starlight. Plush lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them. A shuddering gasp escaped into the night air like a trapped ghost. Mitchell took a sharp breath. Unconsciously, the vampire’s hand dropped down to press gently into the small of Anders’ back. No objections came, so Mitchell left the hand where it was. Anders moved up close to him under the pretence of being cold, thighs brushing against thighs. Their lips connected in the cold winter air, tongues touching as one opened up to the other. Anders was soft and willing, like a tiny kitten seeking shelter, huddling against the vampire’s larger frame. He did not seem to mind the hands that suddenly cupped his ass.

Mitchell ate the mewling sounds and little moans right off Anders’ lips. What a sinful couple they must make, a boy barely legal and a man twice his age, sharing furtive kisses in a dark alleyway. His cock was throbbing with the realization that he wanted this boy; indeed he could not wait to get Anders on his back. It had nothing to do with the hunger. Oh yes, it was gnawing at Mitchell, but faintly still. He could yet suppress it for a few more hours if he chose to. No, the reason was Anders himself and the strong scent of eager anticipation that oozed off him. Clearly, the boy was expecting a night of good, hard fucking, and Mitchell wanted nothing more than to give in to the urge and have him right up here against the cold brick wall, driving into him with everything he had. Something powerfully sexual radiated off the young body.

“…Gabriel!” Anders moaned into the kiss, a sound so wanton it shot straight to Mitchell’s groin.

Yes, he was going to take this boy home. He was going to keep him, for longer maybe, chained to the bed only for Mitchell to feast and fuck.

“We should go to my place,” he breathed, still gnawing on Anders’ lower lip.

The blond nodded with heavy-lidded eyes.

A hand on Anders’ back he took a turn down another street, away from the river, further into the labyrinth of small lanes that made up the old core of the city. The desire to rip the blond’s clothes off and bury himself in that young flesh became stronger by the minute. Anders seemed to know the way without any help, although Mitchell hadn’t told him the exact location of his flat - or had he, he couldn’t remember. All he could think about was Anders on his bed, writhing and moaning. He would make this good for the boy, he’d make it the best fucking Anders had ever had before he killed him while still in the throes of orgasm, plucking him from life at his ripest.

Blue eyes turned towards him, sparkling in the night. “We could take the shortcut through the cemetery?”

Mitchell smiled patronizingly. Sneaky little shit. He agreed with a nod, totally aware of the blond’s intentions. Black-clad Goth boys doing it among the ruins of old gravestones while weeping angels looked down at them with sad faces. What a cliché. Most likely, Anders just needed to prove to himself that he had the nerves for such an adventure. Mitchell was not going to deny him the fun. Creaking the wrought-iron gate open they stepped inside, holding hands. Mitchell drew a deep breath.

Churches were a problem for vampires. Cemeteries, although consecrated ground, were not. The connection to the realm of death was too strong. He just needed to stay away from the chapel, but he easily steered Anders onto a path that didn’t come near the building.

The small cemetery was squeezed between the walls of the original cloister it had once belonged to, and the surrounding buildings that had mushroomed in the years after the burial site had been given up in favour of other, larger ones outside the city gates. It was a modest place, not anywhere near as darkly romantic as London’s Highgate with its impressive Victorian monuments, nor aesthetically beautiful like Genoa’s Staglieno with its vast number of subliminally erotic marble statues. There were a few outstanding markers and one or two angels, but that was all. Hardly anyone nowadays knew of this small place anymore; it came as a surprise that Anders did, but as a good Goth he had probably done his homework.

Watching the blond’s alluring movements, that immediate urge to throw Anders down and have his way with him overcame Mitchell once again, almost blacking out his initial hunger for blood. They slowed their pace, spun round to kiss again, leaning against an ancient gravestone. The vampire’s undead heart began to speed up. A sound like the steady beating of a war drum rose in his blood, loud to his own ears as he delved his tongue deep into the blond’s hot, willing mouth. Anders pressed against him, the front of his bondage pants rubbing against Mitchell’s leather-clad groin, both erections so obvious behind the barriers of fabric.

Within seconds they were tumbling down in a tangle of limbs and lust; Anders lying on his back on a red marble tomb, legs spread apart and Mitchell between them bucking and rutting against the boy’s convulsing body. Oh god, he was ready to lose it right here and now; ready to strip the boy and fuck him on the cold, hard gravestone. Although Mitchell was normally respectful of the dead and their resting places, he couldn’t be bothered to waste a thought to that now - not with his victim so compliantly draped across the marble platter like a treat waiting to be devoured.

“Oh Gabriel!” Anders moaned into the mouth that claimed his, aggressively returning Mitchell’s kisses with licks and nipping bites. The boy was panting, his heart beating wildly like a trapped bird in a cage, the steady drumming like distant music in Mitchell’s ears.

“Uuuh, let’s get to, aah, your place, yeah?” the blond keened, a pretty plea from kiss-bruised lips that Mitchell had no weapon against.

The way back to his studio apartment drowned in a haze. Lust had long since taken over his actions. The desire for blood was forgotten, replaced by another, deeper hunger. The sheer wish to lose himself in the boy’s sensual body clouded his mind like the effects of too much red wine.

Once they were inside the flat, Mitchell slammed the door shut and pounced upon his victim, damning all preliminaries to hell. No kind offering a drink and some shy making out on the couch after a beer or two and all that crap. The only thing Mitchell wanted to drink was the boy’s moans off his lips, and Anders’ supple body would be his nourishment. With a leer, he tore off Anders’ clothes, no words needed save for the occasional groan. He manoeuvred them towards the bed, hands greedily roaming across pale skin laid bare. Naked, he picked the boy up and tossed him onto his bed where Anders landed sprawling, displaying the treats of his body in the most alluring way. The cheeky grin on Anders’ face drove the vampire crazy. Stripping out of his shirt and leather clothes he quickly divested himself, yanking down his black boxers with a rough motion. No need for foreplay here, he wanted to get straight to the point, and that point lay precisely between the boy’s rosy ass-cheeks. Mitchell hissed when his straining cock was finally freed, and he gave it a few quick tugs to relieve the tension before it became too much to bear. He could’ve come on the spot by simply looking at Anders.

The cheeky grin widened as Anders spread his legs, showing off the pink little flower between his milky thighs. Mitchell suppressed a groan. How was he supposed to survive this?

“Don’ forget the lube, love.” Anders cooed with a voice that held far too much experience for someone this age. Not that Mitchell cared. Retrieving the bottle, he squeezed an ample amount of lube into his hand and onto his cock, quickly slicking himself. He wished he hadn’t bought the one with the 'warming sensation’. For once, his body and his dick were everything but cold.

Stalking up to the bed, his eyes never left the prone blond who watched him with eager eyes and an amused smile, spreading his legs further apart and extending his arms in invitation. Smearing the lubricant between Anders’ cheeks was a quick, messy affair. The vampire melted into the waiting embrace, moaning when his cock sank into the tight heat with little to no resistance.

“Gabriel!” Anders moaned as he welcomed Mitchell inside.

He was rough, almost brutal with the boy.

He thrust into Anders with all the strength he could muster, pounding the boy into the mattress so hard that the lithe body bounced back with the impact. There was no holding back, no inhibition at all. Every bit of common sense had diffused into this unbearable ache, this unearthly need that drove Mitchell on and made him use the willing blond like he had never used any of his lovers before. He felt the need to mark, to bruise and to bite while he claimed the tight passage over and over again. Grabbing the boy’s wrists he pinned Anders down, hard, his fingers leaving angry red marks around the wrists while he continued to fuck into him.

The blond’s mouth was wide open in delight, head thrown back and eyes closed, uttering little screams with every thrust into his ass. He shouldn’t be taking the assault so easily, Mitchell thought somewhere at the back of his lust-addled mind; the teen shouldn’t writhe and moan so and lift his hips, demanding more. He was a young boy with little experience, and even if he had had sex before, Mitchell should go gentle on him.

He couldn’t. God no, he couldn’t.

He grabbed Anders’ legs and forced them apart even wider, bending the boy almost in half so he had a good view of himself sliding in and out the tight passage. Anders’ own cock was swollen and leaking, bobbing obscenely against the boy’s stomach with every thrust, but Mitchell couldn’t even spare a hand to wrap around the blond’s length to grant him relief. Collapsing forward he blanketed Anders’ body with his own, chest to chest, elbows to either side of the blond’s head as the vampire leaned heavily onto them so as not to crush the boy. He dropped down his head and buried his face against Anders’ throat.

Groaning, panting, sweating, his hips stuttered with the effort.

Too much, too much…oh god, Anders!

Slamming in, out, so tight, so tight.

His heartbeat, a drum; his blood, thrumming, beating, pulsing.

Deeper, harder. So close.

Anders!

With a garbled shout, Mitchell came. He violently shuddered his release into the warm body. Spurt after spurt of hot cum pulsed from his cock, filling the blond’s ass until the passage was slick and wet.

The vampire dissolved into a wobbly, amoebic mass - at least that was what he felt like. Boneless, dry, shaky, empty. He was still inside Anders, his cock still hard - it’d take a while to soften after such a sensation - although he had no idea whether the boy had climaxed, too, or was still waiting for his orgasm. As it was, Mitchell couldn’t do anything about it. He was like drained, pleasantly so but still unable to move. Anders didn’t seem to mind. He petted Mitchell’s hair and whispered words to him in a language that the vampire didn’t understand, and he didn’t care. He was so, so sated.

They lay like that for a long while, just a couple of content lovers after sex. The normalcy was almost ironic. Mitchell’s thoughts naturally strayed again to feeding. Did he need blood? No, he could do without for a little longer. He’d rather enjoy Anders’ body once more. Who knew? He might keep the boy for a few days even. A talent such as this was too precious to waste. He’d have his share again and again until Anders dropped down from exhaustion, and that was when Mitchell would finally strike. Right now, he intended nothing but to fuck the boy through the night.

He had no idea how much time had passed, whether he had fallen asleep or just lain there dozing. Next thing he knew, he was rolled on his back and Anders was straddling his hips. Opening his eyes, Mitchell’s eyes met the angelic smile of his golden haired lover. The boy was simply too beautiful to behold, like a statue stolen from an art cabinet. Blond hair dusted the surprisingly defined chest and stomach, melting into a tuft of honey-coloured curls between his legs. If this were still ancient Rome, Mitchell mused, this boy would be a pleasure slave.

“Ride me, my beauty” the vampire demanded, bucking his hips to send Anders bouncing. “Take everything you can.”

With a curl of his sinful lips, the boy nodded. He moved and shuffled until Mitchell’s hardening cock was pressing against his opening, then - a quick roll of the hips, a long slide down - he was fully seated atop his lover, Mitchell’s cock buried in his ass. Warm liquid trickled down the vampire’s length when Anders moved up. The remains of their first round were still inside Anders. The thought made Mitchell moan.

Anders was now finding a rhythm for them both, riding Mitchell’s throbbing shaft like a wild horse. Mmmh, what a pleasant sensation in his loins. Not the fierce burning he had felt before - more like a soft tug, like Anders’ body was trying to lure another orgasm out of him, coaxing and wooing instead of demanding. The blond’s hands were on the vampire’s chest, raking through curly dark hair. Soft moans tore from Anders’ throat as he slammed down again and again. Mitchell’s own hands were on the blond’s thighs, helping by pulling Anders down onto his cock.

This was less frantic, less needy than before. This wasn’t fucking, this was sex, still hot, still mind-blowingly good, but gentler, less…raw, less primal. Mitchell closed his eyes and just enjoyed.

Anders knew how to make it last, he’d give him that. The steady rhythm almost made the vampire drowsy. A state of pleasant daze set in, a languid numbness in which his mind drifted away while his body experienced this exquisite pleasure; almost as if the two were separate from each other. He was still pushing up into Anders, still meeting the boy’s moves on their way down, but his hips were the only part of him that moved, and soon enough they stilled as well as Mitchell just lay there and let himself be used. His hands dropped from Anders' sides to the sheets. They felt just too heavy to lift. Mitchell hummed in content. He was engulfed in a warm bubble of sexy sleepy languorousness that he couldn’t - and didn’t want to - leave.

Anders kept rolling his hips, inviting Mitchell’s cock deeper into him, even deeper - god, how much could that boy take? Hmm, didn’t matter. Mitchell’s brain was too tired to think. Just fucking Anders was all he knew, and it was so good, so very good.

He wanted to suggest a change of positions, but next to his hands his feet suddenly felt too heavy to move as well, like a weight of lead was attached to them. Even his mouth wouldn’t obey him and form the words properly, so he just stayed there on his back, lazily rutting up into his lover while he became more and more tired.

“Uuh, Mitchell…!”

Fatigue took him, rolled over him like a wave and brought him down. Mitchell nodded off for a second, jerked awake again without opening his eyes and immediately sank back into Morpheus’ alluring embrace. Sleep seemed so sweet a thought, it sang out to him, called to him. Oh, but what a way to fall into sleep forever, with the sweetest of sensations as a last farewell.

The thrumming in his blood died down to a faint beat, then stopped completely. In fact, there was barely a sound now: not from his blood, nor from his heart - nor from the heart of the boy. That got Mitchell’s attention in the sleep-bedazzled state he was in. Something was not as it should be. Fighting the tiredness that sat heavy in his bones, he struggled against the wave that tried to drag him under, fought his way back into consciousness.

_Wake up!_

With immense effort, he opened his eyes.

Darkness surrounded him.

For a moment he really thought it was dark in the room. It took a few seconds until his brain caught up with the century and he realized it was not burned down candles that caused the darkness; then he wondered briefly whether he had switched off the light at some point and he just didn’t remember.

The darkness moved. Something lifted, and there was light again. The first thing he saw was....wings.

A pair of wings. Unfurled, large wings, black, leathery, bat-like. Wings, and then horns protruding from a forehead, and a forked tongue that darted from Anders’ parted lips as he rocked atop Mitchell and moaned.

Everything slowed down as Mitchell simply stared, unable to move, unable to even process what he saw. Anders’ eyes opened, and a red, flaming gaze fixed upon the vampire.

Mitchell screamed.

Strength rushed back into his body in an instant, shock and fear lending speed to his movements. He bucked and pushed Anders - the _creature_ that was Anders - off of him and right off the bed as well. The fall was sudden and harsh, the creature’s wings too bulky for the small space. They tangled with the bedframe and the rest of the furniture, and Anders landed on his back with a shriek.

Shocked to the core, butt-naked and frightened, Mitchell scrambled to the outmost corner of the bed, since Anders was blocking the way to the door. Scanning his surroundings for a weapon, he grabbed the next best thing that was in reach: a plaster figurine of Michelangelo’s David. It was a poor weapon against whatever it was there on his floor, but better than nothing. With wide eyes, Mitchell watched as the creature rose to its feet.

It was still, essentially, Anders - if that had ever been his real name. The nude, glistening body was still the one of the boy Mitchell had picked up for a shag. The rest of him? Not so much. The wings were folded now, and still they were almost as wide as the bed. A nasty claw adorned the top of each leathery membrane.

“What _are_ you?!” the vampire blurted out, relieved that Anders hadn’t attacked him right away - yet. He just stood there watching Mitchell with a haughty smirk and those red, burning eyes. The vampire wasn’t sure whether the creature was up for a kill, but he felt he oughtn’t stretch his luck.

“Are you one of the  _Lamiae_?”

 _Lamia_ was a code name by which the children of the night could recognize one another. So far, Mitchell had only ever met other vampires, then werewolves, ghosts and the obvious men with sticks and rope who were, for all that he knew, some kind of wanderers between the worlds. Whatever Anders was - it was nothing he had ever seen before.

“Are you undead?” he whispered, more to buy himself time than anything else. He wasn’t probably making much sense anyway.

That prompted the first reaction from Anders since the interruption of their lovemaking. With a sneer and a laugh, he stroked his still erect cock, something Mitchell hadn’t even noticed up until now. The gesture was downright obscene.

“Did this feel dead to you?” the creature leered and took a step closer to the bed.

Mitchell swallowed, gripping his makeshift weapon tight. “You’re not human.”

“Neither are you, my friend.”

What? He knew? Anders knew?! Just…how?

The winged boy chuckled, a displaced sound. “Oh yes, I knew. I knew all along what you are and what you planned to do with me. I saw straight through your schemes, Gabriel - or should I say Mitchell - or John?”

Mitchell uttered a strangled gasp. That was impossible! How could this…this _something_ , this _creature_ know? That he was a vampire, okay, maybe. Vampires could smell werewolves, maybe the boy’s kind could smell vampires. But his name? Where did Anders know his name from? There was but one explanation that Mitchell could think of.

“Are you a witch?”

Anders cocked his head and blinked at him mockingly. “Do I look like one?”

He decided to keep quiet. He had no idea if a witch could so easily be recognized by looks. Mitchell had never met one, he just knew that they existed. Well, he’d _heard_ of them.

Supernatural beings were a tricky thing. Most of what was part of the old lore did indeed exist. He’d heard tales of witches, shapeshifters, and the banshees of his native Ireland. Although he had never met one, their existence was beyond doubt. On the other hand, popular characters like zombies or wizards didn’t exist - and there were definitely no dragons or unicorns in this world. Demons and angels, that was yet another thing, one that Mitchell knew not nearly enough about to be proficient; and he’d heard of actual gods walking the earth - although gods certainly didn’t sport twisted horns and a forked tongue.

Anders…the boy-creature that was Anders...was advancing onto the bed in the meantime, crawling towards Mitchell like a predator and reminding the vampire of his vulnerable state of nudity.

“Naaaw, now look at you. Big bad John the vampire, scared out of his wits.”

“I’m not scared.” Mitchell protested, trying to appear brave. Truth was, he was scared out of his wits.

“Your mind tells me otherwise, little bloodsucker.”

“What the…-! You can’t actually read my mind?? What are you, for heaven’s sake?”

“Nosy little vampire,” Anders cooed. “I shall answer your question, because you fucked me so good. I am an incubus.”

“An incubus?” Mitchell said dumbly, not sure what to make of that.

“Yeah, you know the tales.” Anders waved a hand, a hand that had sharp, pointed nails.

“Incubus, Succubus…there’s even a rock band named after us,” the boy giggled. “We live off the sexual energy of others. We drain them of their seed, their senses, their everything. We suck them dry until they’re dead. Empty shells, but unlike you we leave no marks, no bite wounds or torn throats. Just a look of otherworldly bliss on their faces as they go, and everyone will assume it was a stroke, a heart attack or just some vile disease. We are colleagues, you and I.”

Anders snickered as if he’d made a particularly funny joke. One long-nailed hand reached out for Mitchell, but the vampire quickly moved away. Living off other’s energy, obtained through sex…it sounded unbelievable. And yet…

“That tiredness I felt…was that your...your power?”

Again, the incubus snickered. “Are you surprised someone can take on a vampire?”

“Yeah,” Mitchell replied honestly. “Yeah, kind of. I mean, a werewolf can easily take out a vamp, no problem; and the stick men have power over us as well, but other than that I thought we were pretty much invincible.”

A gloating, bleating laugh of true amusement filled the room. “In terms of sheer strength, perhaps. In terms of power - I’m sorry, I have to disappoint you. There are things much more powerful out there than a vampire. And you’re not the subtlest of killers as well.”

“Can you be killed?” Mitchell inquired in a strange mix of curiosity and morbid fascination.

Anders made a thoughtful face, index finger tapping his lips. “No.” He finally concluded with a happy grin.

“How do you…come into existence? Are you recruited, like we are? Does someone have to pass it on to you or turn you, or are you… _born_ that way?”

“We’re neither born nor turned. We exist, sometimes in this form, sometimes in another, sometimes in no form at all. We can pick our hosts freely, but we can live without one just as well.”

Anders was up close to Mitchell now and the tall man was running out of space to retreat any further, as the bed was enclosed by three walls. The creature blocked the only possible escape routes - forward across the bed, or sideways into the small space between the bed and the bookshelf that was against the wall. Leering, the incubus darted forward, face to face with the vampire.

“Only a whisper and a soft veil of fog that steals into your room at night and crawls into your bed. A dream that makes you hard with need, leaking forbidden little lusty drops into the sheets, and lets you moan the filthiest things in your sleep. You’ll know nothing but exquisite pleasure and you’ll shout out in ecstasy while your body is claimed over and over again.”

To his horror, Mitchell felt his cock twitch and grow hard at those words. They sounded like the sweetest promises, evoking images of lust and satisfaction before his inner eye, and if it weren’t for the wings and the horns and everything, Mitchell would never have believed those were the words of a creature intent to kill.

“You won’t see the morning to tell the tale of who fucked you like that. Just your poor, empty shell left behind like a dead bug, to be glanced at curiously by the experts who will then admit they have no idea why you died. I, meanwhile, I am far, far away, seducing my next victim. It has been like that since the beginnings of time.”

Mitchell was torn between arousal and fear, but the immediate sense of danger was overridden by his budding curiosity. So far, the incubus hadn’t shown any intention to kill him, although whether that was a good or a bad sign, Mitchell didn’t know. The creature’s words caught up with him, and something struck him.

“Wait, what? Since the beginning of time? How old, exactly, are you?”

“Thirty-two,” the incubus said, studying his fingernails.

“No, not your…your…body. I mean you. This…this _thing_ that’s inside that boy.”

Mitchell pointed a finger to Anders’ chest, prompting him to rise to his knees. He was still shorter than Mitchell, but the wings made him look taller and way more impressive.

“Does it matter? Oh wait, yes. To you vampire lot, it does. You’re so jealously hoarding and guarding your years, bitching over who gets to call themselves 'Old One’ and who’s got a right to command whom. It’s so ridiculous.”

“Why do you think that?”

The creature that was Anders narrowed his eyes and fixed him with a probing glance. The red flame had faded, Mitchell noticed. Anders’ eyes were back to their familiar blue.

“How old is the oldest one of your kind that you know?” the incubus wanted to know.

“Uh, the oldest one I know personally is something over 250, I think. But there are others, older ones I’ve heard of. Some are believed to have been born in 1000 BC.”

The creature laughed again, and this time the sound made the furniture in the room shake. Books dropped out of the shelf and the ceiling light swung like a pendulum.

“What a baaaaaby!” Anders cooed in a fit, rocking his arms as if holding an invisible infant.

This display of raw, random power combined with obvious madness made Mitchell’s eyes dart about in search for an escape again. However, the incubus now rose to his feet, his movements fluid and lascivious as he glided up Mitchell’s body, pausing for a split second at his groin with a smile. Blue eyes locked with Mitchell’s, holding his gaze, while a perfectly normal pink tongue darted out to wet plush lips. The taste of the boy’s mouth still lingered on Mitchell’s lips. Anders cocked his head, smiled, and suddenly Mitchell’s thoughts were filled with images of those lips wrapped around his hardening length. A small gasp escaped him as his hips involuntarily bucked forward.

“I am sixty thousand years old,” the creature purred, and every word echoed underneath Mitchell’s skin, sending shivers of pleasure through his body.

“I have seen the Land of Two Rivers and the caverns of Lascaux, filled with fire and life. I roamed the most glorious city that mankind ever erected, Babylon the Great, and I have seen the pyramids being built. I fed upon kings and queens. I have looked upon splendour no human eye will ever see again. I was there when mankind first crawled from its caves. I will be there at its downfall.”

Mitchell knew he should be shocked, appalled, terrified at this revelation. There was no way for him to put up with a spirit this old, a demon - for that’s what Anders was, must be, this thing that lived inside the sinful body like a parasite. He should run, flee, shun this place forever and hope he’d never cross paths with the hungry creature again, but instead Mitchell felt himself grow impossibly hard as his mind processed Anders’ words into a flood of obscene images; flashes of bodies writhing, cocks and tongues and fingers sliding in and out slick passages, people moaning and screaming in ecstasy.

Anders’ wings and horns were suddenly gone like an illusion, as if they’d never been there in the first place. Before him stood a young boy with a sweet smile, and Mitchell began to wonder whether he was perhaps hallucinating. He saw those eyes still fixed upon him, the lingering depth in them a last remnant of that ancient power that had shown itself. The boy closed the distance between them - would he kill him now? Suck him dry of all energy? To be honest, if that meant one last time inside that delicious body, Mitchell would be willing to pay the price. Already he could feel his cock leaking fluid as it pressed against Anders’ thigh.

With a last effort, he blurted out one question that would determine whether he was sane or had lost his mind.

“How do I get rid of you?”

The boy smiled, a sweet curl of lips on his angelic face.

“Not at all,” Anders breathed, brushing his mouth against the vampire’s. His hot cock rubbed against the vampire's in a promise that made Mitchell shiver and gasp.

“I do offer you a chance though. An alliance, between you and me. A pact that will benefit us both. Let us combine our powers and use them to greater effect. Your way of hunting versus mine: We could make it a game of predators. We could share our prey, you feast on their blood while I take their bodies and their energy. It would be a perfect symbiosis, don’t you think? An endless dance of feeding and feasting and fucking…and when we’re done, I’ll allow you to fuck me, because that’s what you want, is it not?”

Anders, the boy-creature with the blond locks and the innocently wise eyes dropped to his knees before the vampire. That smiling, pouting mouth lined up with Mitchell’s straining cock.

“Yes,” the vampire breathed as he sunk himself forward into the tight heat of Anders' mouth. “Yes, that’s what I want…”


End file.
